


Automotive Incinerate

by Copperplate Scribe (theregoesmyfearow)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: I READ THE BOOK IN 6 HOURS AND WAS COMPELLED TO DO THIS, M/M, Mostly Fluff, it really is just. the book. i tried not to let the show influence me, it's been a while i don't know what i'm doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 13:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theregoesmyfearow/pseuds/Copperplate%20Scribe
Summary: Crowley comes to terms with what emotions are, and the fact that he actually possesses them... as well as what "home" really means.





	Automotive Incinerate

**Author's Note:**

> Based as exclusively on the book as possibly can be, especially because I read the book in 6 hours one night and didn't even get to the first episode of the show for probably a week after I started writing this. I've been very lazy posting this. There are a lot of music references in this, as well as some /comedy/ references.

Crowley sat outside a bookstore. It was a normal, regular bookstore. He’d been getting back to work by lightly tempting people… it was rather easy in America. Some low-level politician had been really dividing people. A few extra political signs in front of people’s houses- certainly not paid for by any candidate- would be ripe for the removal. Just a little bit of chaos. The bookstore, however, that was some sort of comfort. He didn’t quite realize it at the time, but something had activated a sort of homing instinct within him that gravitated towards books. This particular one wasn’t good enough, but sitting on the ground outside of it would do for a while.

It… it really wasn’t the same. But he had to wait. Cool down for a while. Keep a level head. There could be trouble to cause in the bookstore. It was a used bookstore after all. If some nefarious individual dog-eared some pages… oh boy. Humans had come up with that. It started off pretty neutral. Someone appreciated the artistry that had gone into creating literature. That someone wanted to know where they left off, so they marked the page with the page itself. Bookmarks had been a thing- little ribbons that were sewn in so that people could mark the pages! It was genius! But ribbons frayed, and one day someone just tucked a page in.

But an important note about artistry is that people enjoy it in different ways. While one person could feel that enjoyment means getting the full experience, getting exhausted during a quiet evening reading and saving the exhilaration of the rest of the story for the next morning - saving gratification for later would only increase the longing, after all - had nothing on the person who needed the book to stay absolutely pristine. Perhaps it had only been read once, with gloved hands so as to not get the pages tainted by the clammy hands of an earnest reader. 

Crowley had grubbed up a few books in his day, even if he always insisted he never read. He had waited a while after the printing press had been invented since Johannes Gutenberg was particularly interested in Bibles at the start. Everyone had been, even before the printing press. But as soon as secular literature was becoming more widely available, Crowley was right there to read it- while eating or drinking or sometimes even while tending his plants. He hadn’t bothered to count how many books he’d gotten dirt between the pages of. 

But while sneakily tucking in the page of a trashy romance novel in a used bookstore hidden deep within small town America, Crowley had a stern nagging at the back of his mind.  _ Aziraphale wouldn’t appreciate this. _ And it was true, though with a different context. Aziraphale collected fancy old books. Rare old books. Books that if you dog-eared the pages of, the corner of the page would just crumble. Perhaps the whole book would crumble, and then there’d be heaven to pay. 

The joy of doing a tiny inconvenience started to fade. The angel would be so disappointed… but on the other hand, Crowley had found telltale creases of the books’ former owners doing just as he had been doing. In fact, if he had bothered to check all of the books secretly, there were some that already had bent pages and even tiny rips in the book jackets. Some were missing their jackets entirely. Sure, little things did tend to add up over the years and decades, but in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t making a lot of difference.

But it was a book, and if it had been rare, Crowley would have never heard the end of it. If Crowley would even dare to bend a page or eat cheese puffs while reading in Aziraphale’s shop, the angel would sense his motive and give a glare as if the next motion would be an angelic hand around his own demonic throat.

For a couple of moments Crowley debated going right back and bothering Aziraphale so much that he’d  _ have _ to lay a hand on him. Push an angel past breaking point, right out of the heavenly nature. It would probably never happen, and deep down Crowley would absolutely never do that to the closest thing he had to a companion, no matter how much they were on opposite sides most of the time. 

Some of that was precisely Crowley’s problem in the first place. He was getting back to work. He didn’t have to put in any actual teamwork with the angel that repeatedly called him “dear” for the time being. It would be quite a while before he’d have to do that again- if at all. Everything had been dealt with, somehow. 

Crowley turned, thanked the shopkeeper for letting him browse a bit-  _ no, it’s alright, he just didn’t see a book that really jumped out at him, maybe another time _ \- and left. He got back into his Bentley, still unable to wrap his head around having it back, and drove off. It didn’t matter where he was driving to. He was just driving somewhere. He hadn’t spent long enough far enough away to justify weaseling his way into a ferry ride back across the Atlantic. If he really felt like it, he could drive up over the ice of the Arctic Circle and come back down, then catch a ferry across the English Channel just to show up at Aziraphale’s door. In the meantime, however, Crowley was content to just drive around.

It was easy to just roam. Not having to put fuel in one of hell’s chariots (the finest one, Crowley would insist) meant that it could just be driven forever. It would be more than possible for Crowley to just explore the vast expanses of North and South America by pretty much just driving there. It wasn’t like a demon ever needed to go home in an earthly sense. Hell was home. Crowley was very much not going to Hell. He was just going to drive around, making petty inconveniences and giving people the resources to make their own petty inconveniences and sometimes huge inconveniences until…

Until…?

Crowley didn’t know. Forever, he supposed. An eternity. He remembered his explanations of how eternity functioned. His work would never be completed. Which of course, that was a given. Of course the work of a demon would never be completed. And if somehow he became redundant or obsolete, he’d just get sucked back into Hell or something. Permanently. And then what was the point in saving the Earth if he was forced to stop enjoying it? He’d have to keep causing problems and temptations.

Deep down, Crowley knew the same was true for Aziraphale. An angel had to keep doing good works and occasionally keep humans from dying by way of miraculous rescues. Like when ordinary humans suddenly had the immense strength for just long enough to lift a car off of another human. That was the work of angels. And so, every once in a while, Aziraphale would do something to that extent. Someone had to, and as far as Crowley was concerned he preferred that the angelic being he’d have to face up against be Aziraphale.

Even though the Bentley no longer turned tapes to Queen, the band would still play on the regular radio stations. This was especially true in America. Crowley was going through such stations when the all too familiar strains of “You’re My Best Friend” came through. It was time to go home. Not home, home. The problem was that Crowley didn’t know the way home because he didn’t know what that meant anymore.

A couple of days passed before Crowley had managed to get ferry passage across the Atlantic. It wasn’t really a ferry. It was a cargo ship. He’d driven the Bentley right onto it and hid it from the crew. He stayed put in the car, catching up on his other tapes since they stayed what they were intended to be. Classical music was a very welcome familiarity. Holst’s “The Planets” was as beautiful to his ears while hiding out between shipping containers as it was when it was still new and being played by various orchestras. There was something that ached in his chest whenever he heard the “Jupiter” movement. Crowley didn’t know what it was, but even though it felt like his human form was going to be torn apart from the inside and it made him hiss with instinctual displeasure, he found himself rewinding and listening again and again.

It was another few days before the Bentley was back on dry land. Or rather, relatively dry land. It was raining very hard, and any other car being driven by anyone else would be hydroplaning in the downpour at such speeds. Crowley just carried on as usual, going at extremely unsafe speeds while the Bentley just swerved around like it had a mind of its own and the ability of an acrobat.

It wasn’t too long before Crowley had homed in on Aziraphale’s bookstore. Once he actually realized that he’d developed a homing instinct however, Crowley turned bright red and pulled the car around the block to park. He couldn’t just go in. It was too soon, he hadn’t been away long enough… even though it was starting to feel like it had been far too much time away. 

There had to be some sort of distraction. Something to keep the angel’s attention on something else. Something  _ or someone _ that Aziraphale wouldn’t be the least bit interested in. Crowley could just change form a bit, present himself as someone entirely different. He could go in and browse, just to check up on things. And then he could leave without Aziraphale taking notice to him. It would be perfect!

It was absolutely not perfect. 

Crowley re-imagined his appearance with longer hair and a long black dress with lace sleeves. In order to try and trick Aziraphale, the sunglasses were left behind and Crowley put extra effort into temporarily having hazel eyes with human-like pupils. Overall, it was a very feminine mood, one that oozed confidence. 

Madame Crowley walked into the bookstore, with a grin that ended up looking a little too devious. It was extremely hard to focus while trying to keep one’s eyes from being reptilian while an angel was looking. Either way, she did her best noir crime femme fatale walk to the closest shelf to Aziraphale’s desk. Logically, such an appearance would have to bring only the baseline amount of attention. However, absolutely none of this had been planned out. Had Crowley taken a little more time to think about it, the plan could have been reworked entirely to avoid conversation as much as possible.

Instead, Aziraphale seemed to take notice almost immediately, much like a hardboiled detective. In fact, Crowley found that the whole incident was starting to play out like a noir film. Or rather, what little Crowley understood of noir films. They had a lot of body language being spoken by legs. Lots of leg-speaking.

“Good day, madam. Is there any way I can be of assistance? You are dressed to the spades, if I may add.”

“Oh, thank you. No, I just came to browse. I’m sure a brave, smart man like yourself could be plenty of help to a damsel if she needed it, but I am, as you can see, very independent and can hold my own just fine.”

“I see! Just be careful that you don’t scuff any books. Hold them so that the spines don’t break, like the spine of some poor sap that’s been… murdered.”

Madame Crowley managed to grin wider. She had forgotten that humans couldn’t smile that wide, but with Aziraphale talking weirdly it was assumed that he hadn’t noticed at all. In fact, Aziraphale was talking a little too weirdly. As in, coincidentally just as noir as Crowley presented. It was strange, because as far as could be recalled, such a literature and film genre was not accurate to how the real time period worked. 

At any rate, it was quickly becoming obvious that such a disguise was attracting attention instead of avoiding it. An angelic presence followed Madame Crowley around the shop. Finally, she turned around.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t catch your name. You know, in case you need help from someone like me.”

“I don’t, but if you must know my name is… An- Antoinette.”

“Ah, enchanted. You look like you have a lot of moxie.”

“Oh, I do. My legs do also, thank you. But I must be going.”

Madame Crowley had finally realized that something was very off about the exchange. There was no way Aziraphale would continue to talk that way to a regular person. The cover was blown. She rushed to the door, but saw her reflection in a mirror that just happened to appear nearby. Snake eyes. It was absolutely time to go, and go far. A quick sprint to the Bentley, and the disguise falls apart. Crowley’s usual preference of form returns, and there are no footsteps to be heard following. Relief set in, and the gearshift went straight to drive. 

Clearly enough time hadn’t yet passed. Crowley drove off into the countryside and stopped beneath a large tree. He got out of the car and sat down on a large rock. He had just wanted to check in on the angel. See what kind of works the old chap had gotten up to, just to compare them. Crowley wanted to know if he was doing a good job himself, getting into mischief. That was it, right? That was all of it. Sure, Aziraphale was good enough company- certainly better than spending time around any other demons or well, definitely a million times better than spending even a second around other angels. It wasn’t too hard to talk to him, either. 

  
  


Wanting wasn’t really in itself a sin. Coveting, that’s what gets you. Wanting is just looking at something and starting to desire the basic concept of it. Humans can absolutely want something and then go about getting said ‘something’ in an honest fashion. To covet, on the other hand, is to fixate and plan sneaky ways to get whatever ‘something’ is being coveted. “Thou shalt not covet a neighbor’s wife”. Want a wife? Commandments say to get one the usual way, not by sneaking off with someone else’s. If whatever you’re after is already someone else’s, then you’re being tempted to steal. 

Aziraphale for the most part, belonged to himself. Crowley was very aware of this. Certainly, Heaven owned all of its angels. Hell owned all of its demons. Neither of the two were going to be obeying any of that perfectly, and had they been properly “owned” by their superiors any teamwork would have been fully impossible.

Crowley thought about this for a while. He wanted Aziraphale’s company. But he felt weird thinking about that outright. For sure, if Aziraphale belonged entirely to Heaven, it would be stealing to pry him away for a nice chat over some dinner. Stealing from Heaven would be some serious brownie points, if some proper loopholes could be found. Tempting Aziraphale into wanting to spend too much time chatting and dining could also be ideal. Tempting an angel at all period was ideal for pretty much any situation, but it would be too easy to actually tempt an angel that already tried to get along with the demon doing the tempting.

It was a lot to think about, really. The concept of wanting someone… no, no, not worded that way. The thought was quickly chased away, and Crowley tried to replace it. Wanting to tempt Aziraphale. Wanting to bounce ideas off of him. Wanting to reminisce. Wanting to gently pester, slightly annoy, just barely tease Aziraphale. 

That thought was quickly dismissed as well. “Teasing” could mean multiple things, from what schoolyard bullies do all the way to combing one's hair backwards to make it stand up, to something a little more scandalous. Hanging out with an angel on occasion was more than enough scandal for one day, even if nobody else found out. Risk could be exhilarating, but Crowley got enough of that from watching other motorists nearly go off the road. Of course, they never actually would- they’d luckily be able to swerve right back to normal. 

The Bentley’s radio had been set to the actual radio again. Some song about dreams coming true was coming over the speakers. Sleeping a lot did sometimes lead to dreams, but not often. Crowley wasn’t sure he wanted his dreams to come true. The ones that weren’t just him remembering tended to focus on having to give a performance report while shrunken, or his plants growing so large they overtake the apartment and rebel. Once he had a dream that Aziraphale tried to give him a book that immediately turned to snakes. That one he wouldn’t have minded coming true. It would be very funny, like those little snake-in-a-can pranks but intensified.

Crowley started to find it annoying that even a weird song about dreams reminded him of Aziraphale. It was getting difficult to focus on work. He got back in the car and drove down the road. He spied some teenagers and put it in their heads that it might be fun to tip cows in the middle of the night. The very thought of teenagers tipping cows was an amusing one. Maybe they’d even tell their friends about the cool man in the antique car who tips cows because he’s cool. All the cows in the countryside would be sideways, and everyone would wonder why. It’d be chaos, probably. 

Perhaps the chaos would overtake the town. That was a nice thought. Humans were given to destroying themselves and each other. It didn’t take a lot of tempting for them to become absolutely wicked. They’d easily start rioting. First it would be vandalism or propaganda against whatever real or, usually it was imagined, threat came their way. Then came the hunts. The further vandalism, serious destruction of property. In America, simply a sports game could start this. Crowley had happened to be around for one, people overturned a car and set it on fire. He’d felt sick and drove far away to escape from that. He wondered if just maybe, the teenagers tipping cows might lead to cars being lit on fire, or houses. Cars, especially.

Despite not quite realizing it until that moment, Crowley had been more careful than usual with the Bentley. It was the fear of losing it again that had him in its grip. The radio was playing something else now, an old folk song being played through beeps. Blasted thing had picked up something weird again. It did that occasionally, if Crowley found himself needing to be jarred back to reality. The station continued, with a female voice reading off something in the NATO alphabet. It reminded him of air raids and war and-

-buildings burning. Houses, shops… shops. Bookstores? Bookstores. Fire? The Bentley on fire.  _ The Bentley _ .  _ The bookstore, proprietor A Z Fell.  _ He had to go back. He couldn’t go back. Crowley sat there, listening to the station keep going until silence. 

He turned the dial. Some pop song was on.  _ “I hear your voice, it’s like an angel sighing. I have no choice, I hear your voice. It feels like flying.” _

Crowley shuddered. The song just continued, while he sat there unable to move his hand.  _ “Oh god I think I’m falling out of the sky” _ ...

  
  
  


Another sinful concept that didn’t necessarily in and of itself happen to be a sin was lust. Sort of. It was still a deadly sin, but animals had something like lust. They needed to, to keep having that type of animal. But most people wouldn’t consider that to be lust. Humans had urges to keep having more humans, just like other animals. The resistance to becoming extinct. Crowley was pretty sure that Hell didn’t really invent lust, that they just improved on it. Once such a desire could be used for evil, that sealed it. Humans were specifically told at first to keep making more of them. Go forth and multiply. But they were supposed to follow some rules before doing that. Crowley mused that rules were made to be broken, so with a little nudging in the right (wrong?) direction, you eventually ended up with Lord Byron.

Demons could probably feel lust if they tried hard enough, but that seemed to be missing the point. Now causing lust, that was something demons were great at. It didn’t even have to be directed towards them. Crowley had done it that way a few times. He’d go up to one conventionally attractive human, point out another conventionally attractive human, and say something like “Oh, that’s someone who’s not being treated too nicely. Can see the longing in their eyes” or better yet, “What a nice piece of ass. You deserve a shot at that.”

The second one had gotten him slapped before. It also got him an “I’m gay”, which caused him to say “Congratulations!” and point out another human that seemed more appropriate. 

Angels, on the other hand… Crowley was pretty sure they couldn’t feel anything but all-encompassing love for absolutely everyone who wasn’t deemed “evil”. And even then, perhaps they actually felt a sort of pity-love towards all of Hell. He thought there was something somewhere about loving one’s enemy, and Heaven’s biggest enemy was Hell. It had to be pity, though, for sure. All of the angels were all happy and bouncy until they had to fight, and then they were vicious. But vicious with love. They were going to smite all demons and destroy Hell because they  _ loved everyone so much _ . It was hypocritical and absurd. Crowley hated it. Tough love was what he did to his plants. Any general angel would have probably looked at a naughty plant and withered it with a glare in front of the others, saying “This is what happens if you don’t follow our rules, wouldn’t you be much happier obeying?”

Horrible. Nasty. And they were the good ones? Fools, the lot of them.  _ Except Aziraphale. _ No, no, he was rather foolish too. Just not in the same way. Mostly. That particular angel was a complete fool in the same way Crowley knew he was a fool as well. And that was fine, he didn’t mind that. 

_ He had to go back. He couldn’t go back. _

This time, before Crowley’s newfound homing instinct brought him right back to Aziraphale, he picked up a quick picnic lunch. He was going to have a discussion over a nice day in the countryside with a very old friend. It sometimes astounded him that he could be friends with an angel, but Aziraphale was one of the few constants he’d had through six thousand years. Crowley put in a tape of some old classics. “You Are My Sunshine” made that weird tightness in his chest come back. Arriving at the bookstore just made it worse. 

“Ah, my dear Crowley! You’re not playing games with me this time? Must be serious.”

“G-games? When have I played games with you?”

“Last time! Weren’t we playing Maltese Falcon? I haven’t seen all of it, so I might be mistaken.”

“Forget about that. I thought we could er, discuss things over a luncheon.”

Crowley held up the basket. He watched Aziraphale start beaming with excitement. Any of Hell’s best demons would have probably vomited maggots at such a ‘pure, precious display’. Crowley didn’t know what he was going to do, but he was damn sure that spewing maggots would make the situation go very badly. That was going to have to be stopped. It was going to be a proper important discussion picnic, not a maggoty upsetting one. 

Crowley held the passenger side door of the car open for Aziraphale. He did not slam any of the angel’s fingers in the door, even if he thought about it for half a second. That would be too horrible. He had to do something a lot less horrible. Like pretend to grab Aziraphale’s nose in his hand, and pretend his thumb is the nose. Like a parent would do to a baby, but it would be very irritating because the angel would know full well that Crowley’s thumb was not his nose. 

Instead, Crowley just drove a little more slowly than usual (but still over the speed limit). Aziraphale turned on the radio. There was Queen on whatever station had been left on. Crowley reached over to turn the dial, but Aziraphale slapped his hand away.

“This one reminds me of you.”

Crowley sighed. The song in question was “I’m In Love With My Car”, a tune sung by Roger Taylor instead of Freddie Mercury. It had lyrics that sounded lustful, but towards a car. It made Crowley wonder what Mr. Taylor had done to his car. But Aziraphale sat there, too happy about the song to criticize any bad driving.

“Angel, how does this remind you of me?”

“Well, your car is your first love.”

“What? Are you implying I’ve  _ known _ the Bentley?”

“No, I- I know how much it means to you. You haven’t owned it for very long in the grand scheme of things, but it has been there for you for long enough that you’re attached to it.”

“I- yes. I am very attached to it. It gets me where I need to go, and I’d like to think it understands me.”

There was no response. It was almost as if Aziraphale seemed sad. Didn’t that angel know that he was Crowley’s longest constant? A car, really. Crowley stopped his train of thought abruptly. He had suspected that he cared more for Aziraphale than he did for the Bentley. The lovely, gorgeous vintage car, that he’d cared for meticulously, lost, and regained only to care for it even more meticulously. He slammed on the brakes. The only other car on the country road, which was behind them, swerved and went into the ditch. It hit the front end on a rock, and smoke started coming out from under the hood. Crowley flung his driver’s side door open and jumped out to pull the driver out of the car. His mind was filled with images of the Bentley going up in flames and he didn’t realize he was doing something heroic.

Unbeknownst however, to Crowley, was that Aziraphale had used one tiny miracle to make sure the driver of the other car was unhurt. He’d then used another one to turn the rock into a fire hydrant, which was now bubbling water onto the crashed car in order to keep it from catching alight. 

Once it seemed that everything would probably be alright as soon as the two had left, Aziraphale relaxed in his seat and let things go as they would. The fire hydrant had its last hurrah, though, and blasted Crowley with a jet of water. The demon stumbled back, sopping wet. 

“I didn’t- I didn’t do that, I swear.”

“But you’re laughing.”

“Yes, but I didn’t do that!”

“I deserved it.”

“You ran to save that man, there’s that good streak again.”

“Wrong! I didn’t want his car to catch mine on fire!”

“Oh, you know those stickers people get of flames? You could put flame stickers on your Bentley.”

“AZIRAPHALE.”

Crowley hissed. He whisked the water out of his suit and sat back down in the car. He closed the door gently and drove on- properly this time. 

“Crowley, I’m sorry.”

There was no response. Crowley wasn’t entirely upset about the flaming car joke. It was a little bit funny. In fact, it was something he’d have done years before, to look cool. But the sudden outburst would have cemented Aziraphale’s belief that the Bentley meant more to Crowley than anything else… and hadn’t he proved that wrong before? Hadn’t he proved that he cared about that blasted angel? Maybe it was extenuating circumstances, but hadn’t he only been deeply disappointed to where his soul would be if he had one about the Bentley, but absolutely devastated and agonizing over thinking Aziraphale was gone forever? Surely the angel knew that.

_ Surely the angel knew that. _

The awkwardness returned. At this point, Aziraphale would have to be completely oblivious to miss everything. But both of them were prone to missing the forest for the trees. Crowley hadn’t actually even realized himself that he gave more shits about the angel than his beloved car. It was only when someone else pointed out that it fell into place.

But he wasn’t “in love”. That would be preposterous. Impossible. Crowley just felt that nothing bad should ever happen to Aziraphale unless he was directly responsible, and therefore able to control the amount of bad. And then it should only be a little bit bad. A minor inconvenience. A dog-eared page on someone else’s book, that Aziraphale would have the uncontrollable urge to unfold. 

That wasn’t love, that was having a nemesis. Probably. Crowley hadn’t watched an entire James Bond movie, he just thought that they looked cool. A devious, handsome man going around shooting a gun, gambling, drinking, all sorts of sinful fun. He was pretty sure some sexual encounters were involved, but the most important thing was the villain. The villain who did something weird and terrorized James Bond. That was about all Crowley had seen. Someone was always pestering James Bond. He wanted to pester Aziraphale. Not kill him, not unleash horrible traps, just always be there and bother him.

Or, that’s all he’d allow himself to think.

The picnic carried on, though not as planned. Crowley still didn’t really want to talk, so he just answered with grunts.

“Lovely day, outside. But it was thoughtful of you to bring a blanket.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, look at the little ants. Can you believe some humans fry them with concentrated light beams?”

“Ffftt”

“Oooh, they really like crumbs. Have you ever watched ants? They run around, and they’re actually very smart. They communicate with smell, and they take care of their own.”

“Nnn.”

It was a lovely day, really. Crowley wasn’t, however, inclined to enjoy that as much as he knew Aziraphale would. He watched the angel being preoccupied, though, and that was good enough. Suddenly, though the angel started humming a familiar tune.

It was “Jupiter”. Specifically, the middle theme. Crowley stared in awe. Of course, of course someone as old as he was would remember similar music. It all made sense. Besides, he knew the old fool loved classical music.

“Angel, did you know I have a tape of Holst in my car?”

“Oh, do you? I do so love ‘Thaxted’.”

“What?”

“His arrangement for hymn purposes of that theme from ‘Jupiter’. He adapted it to fit lyrics, and hymns were written for the tune.”

“Oh.”

Crowley nearly fell over. He knew the weird feeling in his chest this time had “disgust” written all over it. It also had “hindsight is 20-20” written in fine print on all sides. Of course the classical movement that sounded so wonderfully and also horribly familiar was a  _ church hymn _ . Of course the angel would be fond of that. But the weird feeling also went to uncharted territory that Crowley wasn’t even going to bother to explore. He clammed up again and when the picnic was over, he dropped Aziraphale off at the bookstore. Crowley didn’t stay. He went back to his flat and threatened his plants while misting them. 

It wasn’t fair. That was a strange thought coming from someone whose job was to make things unfair, Crowley mused. But it wasn’t. Not in his mind. What was on his mind all the time was that blasted angel. And now everything had been buggered up. Absolutely, extremely buggered up.

He was fairly certain the feeling in his chest meant he was going to be sick. But he’d felt it for so long at that point. What was happening? He was probably going to become some sort of discorporeated. He was going to suddenly explode into a pile of green dust, or something. Perhaps something was  _ really wrong _ . Demons didn’t get sick, did they?

It was a whole year before Crowley even wanted to try going back. And then, he still didn’t try. What was a year, compared to over six thousand before that? He’d slept for huge periods of time before. The year he spent away, however, wasn’t spent entirely sleeping. Some of it was, but not all. Plenty of it was spent being a moody little shit in the flat. Then there was the usual tempting and everything. When that was over, however, Crowley still didn’t feel any better.

The next year was spent just sleeping. Towards the end of that year, though, the nightmares started. It was gradual at first, then built up. 

_ Crowley was standing there, in front of Aziraphale’s bookstore. It seemed empty, closed again. He could just pound on the door until the angel appeared. Pound away until the doors started to crack and jagged bits left cuts in his fists. But he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, chest heaving with every human form breath, waiting. Crowley couldn’t help feeling like he had been waiting for Aziraphale for… for eternity.  _

_ But suddenly, a voice rumbled from below.  _

_ “Crawly! Performance report!” _

_ Not again… not another one, he had just done one, and that was after he’d carved a sigil into a fire hydrant so that it would blast out at random times. He’d even told a maintenance man he’d earned a nap on the job, and that had led to a water main break. Crowley had been doing so well, and- and who didn’t get the memo that he’d changed his name? A downward glance revealed only a pair of boxers and socks. He was giving his report in his underwear, standing in front of Aziraphale’s shop. What if someone could see him? Clearly all of Hell could, couldn’t they, if it was a performance report? Oh, oh no. What if Aziraphale saw him in his underwear, what if the angel laughed at him, what if he found the usually unseen parts of Crowley’s human form disgusting… what if he decided they couldn’t hang out anymore, what if- and then the flames started. But it wasn’t the bookstore that was on fire, it was Crowley himself.  _

  
  


Crowley jolted awake. He was shaking as he sat up, and trying to stand up just led to him falling over. He’d been sleeping so long his legs didn’t work right- he was used to that happening, though. Most of the time he could pick himself back up and carry on, but this time he just stayed on the floor for a while. He definitely didn’t feel any better after the long nap. In fact, he felt quite a lot worse.

It took a bit of doing, but Crowley pulled himself up and shuffled to the nearest mirror. He didn’t look too much different- just tired. Tired in a way a demon shouldn’t be unless that demon had been punished severely. He figured that made sense, since he felt like he’d been punished severely somehow. 

Crowley decided to go to Tadfield, just to see if the others were faring better than he was. The others were faring better. Adam was in school at the time, but that was in and of itself a bit of good news. Anathema was home, but she sighed at Crowley and told him he needed to find his own way home. Crowley hadn’t even said anything to her beyond a “hello”. Newt just nodded and repeated the sentiment.

Home? Home was the flat, now. Right? It had to be. Home wasn’t Hell anymore, he’d thought that over plenty of times. Home was in that damned little flat that he didn’t really need but wanted all the same. Even if it felt empty somehow. Crowley thought about Shadwell and Tracy, who’d moved in together as a retired couple. But with what Aziraphale said, it was a strange circumstance. Then again, that was obvious to anyone who has spent more than two seconds around that pair. 

But that was all well and good for everyone else. The human friends could feel love and feel welcome and needed. Crowley didn’t  _ feel _ welcome or needed. Mostly. There was one place he did actually feel welcome. He had to go back.  _ He couldn’t go back. _

It was tempting to just sleep for another year. To see what that would do. Instead, once Crowley was back at the flat he turned on the stereo system. The song that was on the radio nearly brought him to his knees. 

_ Six o'clock, T.V. hour, don't get caught in foreign towers _

_ Slash and burn, return, listen to yourself churn _

_ Lock him in uniform, book burning, bloodletting _

_ Every motive escalate, automotive incinerate _

_ Light a candle, light a votive, step down, step down _

_ Watch your heel crush, crush, uh oh _

_ This means no fear, cavalier, renegade and steering clear _

_ A tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies _

_ Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives and I decline _

It all came rushing back. There was a bit of the song that kept going “it’s time I had some time alone”, and hadn’t he? Crowley had had plenty of time alone. And that had been just as overwhelming- even being unconscious for a whole year didn’t help thanks to the blasted nightmare. 

Crowley stumbled to the toilet and stood over it. After a couple of years feeling like he was going to be sick, he finally was. He spewed blood like any good demon worth his pillar of salt could, but it wasn’t to cause problems or in response to a crucifix. It was because everything was too much. Crowley had finally driven himself so worked up that he’d gotten sick. Unfortunately, the demon didn’t come to that conclusion. Instead, he assumed that it meant his human form was breaking down, that he’d be launched out of it and have to try so hard to get it back. 

It wouldn’t be impossible to recombobulate himself into his usual state, it would just be difficult. But the worst of it was that Aziraphale would probably assume he was dead. That would be extremely bad. That would be so bad it was making Crowley about to be sick again just thinking about it.

He  _ had _ to go back.

There wasn’t any other choice. Crowley was going to show up at Aziraphale’s bookstore and tell him the situation. That something was wrong. And sure, the angel would worry. But at least he would get the story from the source in person instead of over the phone or by post. 

The drive was long. Crowley drove through Tadfield. He couldn’t stop feeling like it could be the last time. As he sped past, he caught a glance of Newt and Anathema out gardening. Likely for occultish herbs or something. If there was time, Crowley would have helped out by making sure their plants behaved properly. He passed Them out in a field, but slowed down. Adam stared and nodded. Crowley wondered what for Hell’s sake that meant. He was too oblivious to notice that the radio turned on by itself, and Holst’s “The Planets” started again. By the time he actually noticed it, he had arrived at the bookstore. The tape was just starting in on “Jupiter”. 

Crowley was more than relieved to find that Aziraphale opened the door for him.

“My dear boy, I could hear you coming. I could- I could even feel you coming. Oh, you look terrible.”

“Angel.”

“C-come right in. Oh dear, oh dear.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley inside before locking the door. He nearly dragged Crowley to the back room, since the demon was nearly too out of it to shuffle forward. 

“You haven’t been around in too long, Crowley. Have you been too busy? You look very overworked.”

“Nnn, I- I haven’t felt very well. It feels like my chest is weighted down so much that if it were real, I wouldn’t be able to stand.”

“Can demons become ill?”

“Not like this. I don’t know what happened.”

“Hmm.”

Crowley reclined on a loveseat. If he was feeling up to it, he’d have been more dramatic about it. Aziraphale leaned over him, looking him over. Crowley closed his eyes. He could feel something brushing against his cheek, so he slapped at it. He opened his eyes to see Aziraphale frowning.

“I think this is it, Angel.”

“What is what?”

“The end of me, this form, anyway.”

“No. No, you just seem tired, you’re not seriously harmed. Had you crashed the Bentley, and been exploded or something, then that would be the end of it.”

“Aziraphale.”

“My dearest boy, nothing seems to be wrong with you.”

“But I got sick, as in was sick. In the toilet. Blood.”

“Demons do that, as I understand.”

“I- It wasn’t- something’s wrong. Aziraphale, I- gk-”

“Crowley. Just calm down.”

It was difficult to calm down. Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley’s chest in what seemed to be an attempt to hold him down on the loveseat. Crowley’s hand clapped onto the angel’s hand, almost on its own. 

Crowley looked up pleadingly for half a second. He suddenly noticed that Aziraphale was starting to turn red. He- they-  _ hands. _ Crowley pushed the angel’s hand away and started breathing more heavily. Aziraphale’s face displayed a look of questioning. Crowley just shook his head. He wasn’t going to field questions. Not then, not like that.

“Dearest Crowley-”

“I can’t. I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying. I think I know what’s- it’s not wrong, that’s not the correct word.”

“It’s the end. Like when I thought you were gone.”

“You- of course. Crowley, what are you a being of?”

“Problems, incompetency.”

“Look deep inside yourself.”

“If you’re trying to get me to say that I’m good, that’s bullshit and you know it.”

Aziraphale just sighed. There was something he was getting at, but Crowley was just too confused (and stubborn…) to figure it out. Nothing made any sense. If the angel knew, why didn’t he just say? Unless it depended on Crowley figuring it out for himself. But the way things were going, it seemed as if that would never happen. That stare, though. Aziraphale was waiting for the answer to a question unspoken. That, Crowley could see clearly. But the question? Whatever could that be?

Crowley reached over and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand. He did so tightly, pushing his fingers between the angel’s, squeezing almost violently. He didn’t want to feel any cracks or snaps, he just wanted to be certain that he was really in that moment, that the angel- his angel- was real. He closed his eyes and sighed. Aziraphale shifted to pull Crowley up to a sitting position before wiggling his hand away. He sat next to Crowley and leaned against him.

It made things  _ worse _ . Crowley opened his eyes and turned to look at Aziraphale. He could see love and caring in the angel’s eyes. That’s how that old fool always looked. But there was something personalized about it. The angelic being didn’t just ooze love and caring, he had it  _ for Crowley, specifically. _

“What are you a being of, Crowley?”

“Stop telling me riddles.”

“What did you used to be? There’s still a part of you that- oh, I can feel it, Crowley. I knew someone was coming, and when I heard the Bentley I knew it was you.”

“Tell me!”

“You need to answer it for yourself! I can only give you hints! You need to come to the conclusion yourself, just as I had to for myself! I had books to guide me, but you have me.”

Crowley stared. He didn’t know whether to be angry or scared. If Aziraphale had to answer something for himself, and Crowley had it in common… there was something they had in common. But Aziraphale hadn’t fallen, that much was obvious. Crowley thought about how he had been an angel at some point, however short that time was, and how Aziraphale kept asking him what he was a being of. Hate, wasn’t it? Darkness? Angels were beings of light and love, so that made demons beings of hatred and darkness. But the more he thought about it, the more Crowley realized that humans had proved the opposite of love to be nothingness. But he couldn’t be a being of nothingness. There was a lot of something that burned deep inside Crowley, hotter than Hell’s fire and strong enough to stand up to it. Was it possible that the ache he’d been agonizing over was love?

It was time to face it. Crowley thought about how he had been going right back to Aziraphale every time, how he craved just being around that angel, how he had been avoiding everything… how it didn’t go away, even when ignored. Everyone had always told Crowley that demons couldn’t love, but since when had he always listened? Everyone always told him that the end times were unchangeable, and that sure didn’t happen as planned.

“Aziraphale…”

“Yes, my dearest Crowley?”

Aziraphale’s reply sounded so sweet it was nearly purred. Crowley let out a little gasp. That settled it, confirmed it a hundred percent. 

“I feel- I need to be around you, I can’t-”

“It’s alright, let the words come.”

“Hnn. I need you to hold me.”

“I’m right here. Say it.”

“I love you?”

“Do you, Crowley?”

“I must, I ache so hard thinking of you.”

  
  


That seemed to satisfy the angel for the time being. Crowley was rewarded with a tight embrace. It was so good to finally have that longing come to an end. But there was still a bit to sort out. Sure, some of that would have to wait, but what was it that Aziraphale had said? He’d had to figure the same things out?

He… how long had he known? How long had it been that Aziraphale had been keeping that secret? Crowley pulled away. 

“Hey! Do you? Do you love me?”

“Oh darling, of course I do. I mean, not in the same way that- it really is complicated. I care deeply about everyone, I love everyone. I love you as a friend, but I do love you more than that as well.”

“How long? How long, you heavenly bastard?”

“I- I don’t know. I had to face it, just as you had to face it for yourself.”

“Aziraphale, I- wait. Did you know I loved you? Did you know that I had stressed myself out about it for so long? That I was hurting?”

“Not until you showed up, I promise. Besides, do you think I wasn’t hurting? Wanting to hold someone in my arms that I couldn’t guarantee could ever feel the same?”

“Right.”

  
  


Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulders and pulled him close. It was a matter of waiting to see if the angel would make the first move towards a kiss or if Crowley would have to do it himself. Then again, Aziraphale had sat around in a bookstore instead of professing his love after he knew it to be such an emotion. Crowley guessed it could take hours if he just sat there. So the wait had to end. Crowley whispered as he slowly put his face closer and closer to Aziraphale’s.

“How much do you love me, though?”

“A lot? I’m not sure I follow.”

“Is it an intense, passionate craving? Like I have now?”

“Oh, Crowley.”

It was almost unbearable to wait any longer. Crowley pressed his lips against Aziraphale’s, keeping his tongue out of the equation and closing his eyes for good measure. It was only a short moment, but it was thousands of years in the making. Crowley pulled away and opened his eyes. Aziraphale opened his own eyes to reveal a glint of mischievousness. It was almost as if the angel was begging for more. Crowley soon found himself being pushed over onto the other side of the loveseat and being pinned down- though not at all hard- by Aziraphale. After a round of kisses moving from lips to jawline to neck, Crowley had his answer. 

It didn’t take very long for Crowley to realize that his emotions had been encompassing lust, and that he just hadn’t been able to see that sooner. Every time he’d thought about Aziraphale touching him- from the mental images of threatening over destruction of books to a gentle hand on his shoulder- Crowley had been yearning for some sort of contact. There was some part of that concept that had slowly become a feeling of lust. It had started innocently, like wanting to be patted on the back in support and grown to wanting to feel Aziraphale’s human form being pressed against his own human form… or fingers gripping so tightly they left red marks for a little while. 

It did, however, take a little bit more time to realize that the almost immediate motivation for Aziraphale to kiss so intensely was probably also lust. Crowley started turning red at the thought of 1) someone having such emotions about him and 2) becoming painfully aware of exactly what could possibly happen to him because of it. With Aziraphale lying on top of him and cuddling him, Crowley had the first great relief he’d had in quite a while. Everything was falling into place just perfectly.

Until, of course, it wasn’t. Lust was a deadly sin. It was a slippery slope into moral degradation and inappropriate doings. If Crowley was lustful, that would probably be fine. He was a demon, after all. But if he was lusting after an angel, that would mean the angel had  _ tempted _ him to lust. Crowley gasped. Angels tempting? Not allowed. Worse yet, if Aziraphale was having lust for Crowley, that would mean an angel was engaging in a deadly sin. Sure, it would be extremely commendable for Crowley to tempt an angel and succeed, but if Aziraphale was sinning? Bad. A deadly sin at that? Extra bad. Crowley gasped again. He’d finally gone too far, hadn’t he?

Crowley tensed up and shoved Aziraphale off of him. The angel was startled and plopped onto the floor. Things were escalating from bad to worse. 

“We can’t!”

“Crowley! What was that for?”

“We can’t do this! I’ve fucked up this time, I really have?”

“What on earth are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“You’re sinning, don’t you see? Lust is a deadly sin! I’ve got you tempted-”

“Crowley, please.”

“You’ll fall!”

Aziraphale stared. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it after a few seconds. Crowley was still busy panicking. 

“I’m not going to fall.”

“You’re an angel! You’re not supposed to do deadly sins!”

“Crowley!”

“I don’t want to lose you!”

“Crowley!  _ SHUT UP! _ ”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, absolutely stunned. Aziraphale got up and snuggled Crowley on the loveseat, but Crowley didn’t speak. He kept his mouth shut for a while and just let the angel hold him tightly for the time being. It didn’t stop the worries, however.

Since the two didn’t need to sleep, they just held onto each other until the tiny privacy windows started to let in sunlight. The calm wore off, however. Crowley squirmed away and got up to look around. The books. They were home. The newer bookstores never had the same charm- they never had Aziraphale. That’s all it was, the whole time. But knowing what home meant was only part of the battle. 

“What if I lose you again?”

“Don’t talk like that, Crowley. I’m staying here.”

“No, I- what if you do fall?”

“Alright. You know what? Even if I do, everything will be fine. I mean, it won’t be fine, but I’ll still have you. Right?”

“It’ll hurt you. Quite terribly, you know. Especially if you know it’s because you didn’t do anything properly wrong to deserve it.”

“If I fall because I love you, then there’s no point to angels, is there? Beings of love being forbidden from loving? Quite ridiculous if you ask me.”

Crowley nodded. Heaven did a lot of things that didn’t seem in-character for them. There was mass drowning, baby-killing, loads of things. Humans that hadn’t done anything wrong getting sent to Hell for processing because “Well, they didn’t  _ believe. _ ” and Hell would have to send them upstairs with a scrawled note that said “Well nobody told them, your fault. Not ours.” 

But there was always the reminder that Crowley and Aziraphale had trudged on despite the odds. It had taken over six thousand years for them to get where they were, but even the end of the world didn’t split them apart. Why would anything even bother anymore?

Aziraphale got up and started a pot of tea. Crowley gave in to such a delicious breakfast temptation- with the condition that there was whisky he could add to it. They’d spend breakfast together, and it would be beautiful. The day dragged on lazily, with Aziraphale keeping the shop closed for the day to make time. 

It was about afternoon when Crowley had finally calmed down fully. Displays of affection were passed back and forth, from a light stroke of a cheek to hand-holding. It was starting to awaken the six thousand years of overall touch starvation in Crowley. 

“Oh, Angel, Angel, kiss me harder than anything you’ve ever done in your life.”

“Oh?”

“Use your teeth if you want, just have at me.”

“Be careful when asking for a miracle, darling.”

Aziraphale chuckled before getting up. The two had been sitting at a small table with some more tea, but it was clearly time to quench Crowley’s other thirst. Crowley found himself being sat on and kissed gently on the forehead. But before he could remind the angel that the request was for a bit of roughness, the kisses moved to his lips. And then, that’s where the angel’s teeth pulling on his bottom lip made him sigh. Crowley had no idea what Aziraphale was capable of, nor what he was willing to do for his demon.

It really was all Crowley had been yearning for without realizing it. He wanted a bit of passion, a bit of feeling wanted and loved. He’d just never put too much thought into it- that would have been more trouble and work than he had thought it would be worth. But oh, oh, it was turning out to be more than worth the trouble. The ache he’d felt needing Aziraphale’s companionship, the desperate need to make sure he was always there to be more or less a darkened mirror of the angel, every time they’d met “by chance”. It all culminated in the deep, passionate kissing the pair had finally shared. The few kisses they’d shared in the several hours following Crowley’s admittance and acceptance of his emotions had paled in comparison to the intense relief and enjoyment he’d just found.

Absolutely nothing could have prepared Crowley for feeling Aziraphale’s warm hands creeping up under his shirt, caressing his chest. The combination of gentle hands on his chest and the rough kissing- and the sucking, and the biting- on his neck had Crowley melted in all forms except physically. A nearly gurgling whimper left his mouth, and Aziraphale stopped. 

“Should I stop?”

“What?”

“That didn’t sound like a noise of pleasure.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It didn’t sound like a demon noise.”

“Should I hiss? Should I hiss like a snake? Are you going to break out into a lovely tenor note if I press this mortal form of mine against yours?”

“I-”

“Actually, I think I’d like to hear that. I’ll make you sing, since you’re part of the choir invisible.”

The little gasp Aziraphale gave was all the motivation Crowley needed to take on the challenge. He pushed Aziraphale off of him and dragged the angel over to one of the few free walls in the room. It was like an angel sandwich, with one piece of Crowley bread and one piece of wall bread. And the filling, the filling was one blushing Aziraphale, quivering with anticipation.

Crowley continued, speaking softly as he untied Aziraphale’s bowtie.

“Have I been naughty in thy sight? Wouldst thou snuff me?”

The response was a nod. Crowley wasn’t sure what he expected. He continued, unbuttoning the angel’s waistcoat. 

“Hmm, if I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”

This time, Crowley got a squeak out of Aziraphale. The next layer of clothing was removed. Crowley paused to slip out of his own blazer, and then loosen his tie. Next came Aziraphale’s bowtie, and then a rough kiss on the lips. It was a very human instinct to do such things, and Crowley wondered if it had anything to do with being on Earth for so long. Perhaps the millennia had done the same thing to Aziraphale- it sure seemed that something had had an effect on the angel, as he was definitely encouraging Crowley to continue. Or perhaps it was something long forgotten, long chased away by both Heaven and Hell alike, forgotten in favor of artificial purity or “getting more important things done”. 

“Oh, Angel, my nipples explode with delight!”

“Can demons do that?”

“It’s an expression, my darling. A dirty one.”

“Obviously. Let me try.”

“Fire away.”

“Crowley, give in to mortal, carnal pleasures and have at me in the way billions have before us. After all, it is only natural.”

Crowley nodded and swallowed hard. He pressed himself against Aziraphale, smooshing the angel tighter against the wall. More rough kisses stifled another squeak. Neither Heaven nor Hell could ever feel like the complicated desire of two mortal forms to be entwined. If it were wrong, if it were truly unholy for an angel and a demon sent to Earth to be together in such a way, then why did it ease all sorrows and intangible aches to come together? Sure, there were rules imposed on the humans, but hadn’t some of them gotten to Heaven despite breaking a few of them? And hadn’t the humans invented some of those rules on their own without Heaven’s help? Crowley didn’t have a lot of time to parse such thoughts. He was too busy pulling Aziraphale away, back to the loveseat. 

Mortal forms, exposed entirely, the two unearthly beings clung to each other, hands frantically trying to make sure the moment was real and tangible. Crowley had never felt such relief from touch starvation. The longing he’d finally had an explanation for was fading fast. If all it took to ease such emotional pain was to give in to temptations, then the fact that it took over six thousand years seemed absurd in comparison to how quickly it went from acknowledgement to acting on such desires.

The fear of causing Aziraphale to fall was lost in the moment of knowing him on a far deeper level than what Crowley had previously thought would ever happen. Nothing else mattered in the moment. Just as Aziraphale had taken to sampling human fare around the world, and Crowley had taken to occasionally sampling some alcohol (and he had tried angel’s food cake, just to see if it would hurt), it was becoming increasingly obvious that activities the two didn’t have a need to partake in were enjoyable all the same. 

And perhaps, it was all for the better. Perhaps everything would work out on its own, finally, after so long with so much hardship faced. After so much trouble that had been stared in the face and defeated, finally some real peace could be had. And maybe, just maybe, Crowley could convince Aziraphale that they should live together for convenience’s sake. They could have a nice place with bookshelves and plants and each other’s company. It would be absolute bliss, even if Crowley would still keep up his stubborn air and pretend he would never lie down in a field of flowers next to Aziraphale. 

But in that moment, the future didn’t matter, and neither did the past. What mattered was a sense of relief shared by an angel and a demon tangled together on a loveseat with no other entities to put a stop to it.


End file.
